Phantom of the Theatre
by RuGrimm
Summary: Everyone knows the beloved story of the Phantom of the Opera, and some may know of that of the dark tale of the Black Butler. What may occur when the Savoy Theatre is haunted by that of the strange Silver Ghost who guides the young Grell Sutcliff on his journey to the spotlight. Will the Viscount de Spears be able to save him from the clutches of a madman? Warning for yaoi.
1. Prolouge: Crimson Reverie

An old man stared out from the passenger seat in the back of an old-styled automobile. It clanked and clattered and clicked down the busy, bustling streets of London that cool, autumn evening. Through dark, decrepit eyes and the weighed-down wrinkles of his face, he could imagine his youth in the reflectoin of the window. And in those eyes there was nothing but sadness and longing for the past. His mind conjured up that of a beautiful man's reflection next to his own-a man with brilliant red hair and flaming personality.

A silver moustache lined with white ran over the old man's upper lip and around his mouth. Upon his head sat an old top hat, leaning slightly to the right and seemingly read to fall apart with its age at any moment-just like its owner.

He sniffled slightly from the cold that was likely creeping up on him with this weather, and his throat was miracullously dry. To preserve his voice, a private household doctor had ordered his servant to do all the bidding for him today at the local auction in a nearby, rebuilt theater: The Savoy Theatre. Of course, this theater was nothing but a replica. The real building had burnt down years before.

As the car drew to a stop, the old man watched as two of his servants hopped out of the car. From where he sat, he could see the symbol of his household on the door, marking him as nobility to all those who saw. He didn't care for it much nowadays, all he was waiting for now was to rejoin those he loved yet lost in another world. Whether it was heaven or hell, the old man didn't care.

Door opening, the old man held tightly onto its handle, and hoisted himself onto his shaky feet. There in front of him, no more than a good three feet, was his wheelchair he was now confined to for the most part. To him, it was his mobile prison. Regardless, he struggled to walk toward it, and he could feel the firm hand of his younger servant who would help him with his bidding today. When he had finally sat down, the younger servant propped his feet in the little bucket and lifted it so that it wouldn't drag on the cobblestone ground.

The moment that the old man was situated, the older servant got back into the car to drive it to a safe place to park, and the younger wheeled him to the grand entrance of a unique theater hall. Above that entrance was a banner that read: _"Public Auction Today" _ and above that was the translation to French.

The old man had heard rumors that most of the attendents today would be from France as the current owner of this theatre house were from Paris themselves. The hadn't truly bothered him in any way as long as he could achieve what he had traveled from his reclusive mansion in the country.

A loud, booming voice could be heard as he approached the great hall.

"Sold. Another sir? Thank you. Lot number six-six-three: a poster from this theatre's production of Richard III. Do I have ten pounds? Five then? Six. Seven. Eight. Eight once. Eight twice. Sold to that kind mossieur. Thank you very much, gentleman."

The gavel was nothing but a dull crack in the old man's ears as he approached the small gathering of those bidding today. There was likely no more than eight or ten, not including the French auctioneer and his two helpers.

The auctioneer started again the moment that the old man had come to a halt. "Lot six-six-four: a wooden pistol and three human skulls from the 1831 production of A Tale of Mystery. Ten pounds? Thank you. Ten still..."

His words seemed to grow distant as the old man's attention was drawn from his gloved hands. He'd only come here, after all, for one purpose. However, the old man had the feeling that he was being watched, and as his old eyes peered up to gaze at the person who was staring at him, his heart nearly froze. Though age too had affected the once young man, he could still make out those green eyes and a hint of blonde in that silvery hair. There sat a fedora on his head, and he wore a nice suit. Glasses sat perched on his nose, nearly goggle-like in nature and sticking out like a sore thumb on his aged countenance.

They stared at each other, speechless for many moments in what seemed to be a mutual understanding. Despite the years, they knew each other without a doubt.

And then it was broken by the sound of a gavel that signaled the end of another sale.

"Lot six-six-five: an old musical box in the shape of a barrel organ; attached is the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the symbols. It was discovered in the vaults of this theatre. Still in working order, ladies and gentleman. Showing here..."

One of the assitants of the auctioneer raised his hand to gently turn the crank of the old music box, and sure enough, it played a low, mellow tune as the symbols of the monkey slowly came together and then apart. The old man's grip on his other hand tighhtened a little more as he tensed at that tune, but he knew that had to be it. This is what he came for; he was sure of it.

"May I commence at...fifteen pounds? Fifteen, thank you."

Determined to get what he came for-the old man motioned to his servant who, in return, raised his hand to bid for the frail old man he called Master. Money was no object for the nobleman. If he had to, he'd sell his mansion and his title and pay a billion pounds for this one little music box. If he couldn't get it, he may as well kill himself and set the family name up in a blaze.

"Thank you, gentleman. Oh? Mr. Knox, twenty-five. That you, kind sir. We're at twenty-five. Do I have a thirty?"

The old man shot Mr. Knox a cold glare. He knew that Knox knew he wanted it. Then again, what if Mr. Knox wanted it for the same reason? After all, they'd both known 'him' very closely. No. This was his mission, and his alone. He gripped his servants arm and gave him a small nod, motioning for another bid.

"Thirty. And thirty-five?"

The auctioneer glanced at Mr. Knox expectantly who gave a small smirk and shook his head in a modest defeat. However, before he had backed down from the bidding, he had given the old man a small, understanding look as if he were pitying the nobleman. Mr. Knox then took a small step back, his hands well inside the pockets of his trousers as his head tilted down a little toward his signifying white oxfords to hide his still vibrant green eyes beneath the brim of his fedora.

"Thirty pounds then. Thirty once. Thirty twice," the gavel beat on the auctioneer's podium, "sold for thirty pounds to the Viscount de Spears. Thank you, sir."

Slowly, the auctioneer's helper (or one of them), came down the stairs of the stage to gently hand the viscount his monkey music box. Trembling, frail hands took it from the other's, and he carefully inspected the music box of its every detail to make sure that this was truly the real thing. A finger gently brushed over the wrinkles in the moneky's face, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. This was it. It had to be. It was so perfect.

It was a collecter's piece, indeed. Every detail was exactly how 'he' had said. And Viscount de Spears wondered whether or not this old music box would still play even when they were all dead.

His throat began to choke up with memories, and that vibrant hair of red flashed through his mind again as he gazed solemnly at this antique in his hands. Yet, the melancholy thoughts swirling in the sea of memories were interrupted by the sound of the auctioneer's voice again.

"Lot six-six-six, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall, the strange affair of the Phantom of the Theatre-a mystery never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentleman, that this is the very chandlier that figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it, and rewired parts of it for the new, electric light. Perhaps, we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination." The auctioneer looked up at his helpers, nodding them to go on with a small smile though the Viscount and Mr. Knox stared in horror as the cover atop a giant heap was thrown aside to reveal that of a beautiful chandelier.

The lights suddenly flickered on from it, the Viscount's eyees wide in his wrinkled skull as it was hoisted from the wooden stage floor and up toward the grand ceiling. Could it really be? Those memories simply flooded back, and he found himself inside of those memories, sitting in this very theater nearly sixty years ago.

It was opening night of a grand new performance.

The beginning of this twisted tale.

The Phantom of the Theatre.


	2. Chapter 1: The Mystery Begins

Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack. Clickety-clack.

Those who stood in the streets parted for the nobleman's carriage driven by footman known only as Snake. None of them missed the silver, crest (a pair of doors wearing a crown and framed with magnificent wings) on the side of the black carriage that read: _Potentia regere, _and they made sure to keep their distance. Anyone who lived in London knew that crest; everyone knew that family.

It was the Phantomhives- -the family of the Queen's guard-dogs.

Nothing but their famed mystery was known to the people of England. They were a well-known, prestigious family directly controlled by Queen Victoria herself, and quite often were they named: "The Aristocrats of Evil". Beneath the veil of their dark countenance was the truth of a family that was tasked to conceal all of the Royal Family's wrongdoings, to eliminate every thread linking back to the Family, and to destroy every thing that threatened England. With this great responsibility came the power to control all of England's underworld and the ability to maintain the fine line between the normal and the supernatural. When one threatens to overthrow this balance, it is the Phantomhives that eliminate the threat- -no matter the cost or method.

It was the rumors of their evil-doings and manipulation of England herself that lead to the overall apprehension of the family, despite the new head of household- -Earl Ciel Phantomhive. No one knew much of the new earl, as not many saw him in or out of his mansion and lived to tell the tale. Nevertheless, what was known among many noblemen and women was that he was nothing more than a mere child who had a deep dependence of sorts on his butler.

No one had ever heard anything of this butler named "Sebastian" before, but when one saw him, many saw him as very enigmatical and dark. Sebastian did not seem like a very trustworthy person, and he was exceptionally clandestine, but there was no doubt of his loyalty and skill (not to mention his rather devilishly handsome appearance).

In the carriage riding down the streets of London with Snake at the helm, who else would be inside but the Earl Phantomhive himself and his black butler?

"I see..." Sebastian nodded with a small smirk, crimson eyes trailing over the smaller form of his employer clad in a top hat and blue bow of ribbon around his neck. Hanging from his shoulders and covering the sight of a black waistcoat and white dress shirt was his blue frock coat adorned with several golden buttons. "Forgive me, young master, for my inquiry; however, I question whether or not the involvement of Miss Elizabeth is wise. You you recall the incident with the dolls, don't you?"

A single blue narrowed and glared at the coat-bearing demon who smiled lightly back at him with little fear of reprimand. "The threatre of our investigation is to be run by two managers as stated in the contract. I would have preferred you undercover as my equal, but it would not have seemed that way to the public, nor been favorable with the noblemen who know you as a butler. Elizabeth is both nobility and easily manipulated. I can run the theatre on my own with little interference from a partner. I entrust you with her security. I trust you will not fail me."

The demon's smirk grew a little with a small nod. His eyes traveled to the envelope branded with the queen's insignia before gazing back up to his master. Ciel must have caught this glance for he opened the letter and handed it to Sebastian. "Our mission is quite clear, Sebastian. Her majesty fears for the security of our upper class who attend the Savoy Theatre with rumors of the Opera Ghost, also known as the _Silver Phantom_. There have been two recent murders before attention outside the theatre was gained. Apparently, two of the security guards were found lynched from the rafters over the stage last week. Rumors of it being the ghost's doing and of previous deeds done by the ghosts have been surfacing."

"Previous deeds, young master?"

"The tale says that there has been a ghost living in the Theatre for several decades, maybe centuries. When someone acts out of the ghost's wishes or breaks his "rules" they are said to have been murdered days later, usually at the theatre itself. Look for any previous accounts of murder, Sebastian. I want to see how much of this tale is true, if any of it is."

With a nod, Sebastian placed a hand over his chest as the carriage slowed to a stop. "Yes, my lord."

A black cane topped with a golden handle hit the cobblestone streets once Sebastian opened the door and stood outside, followed by the knee-high boots of its owner. There, a blue eye trailed up the side of the brick building and its grand, white balconies and saw-milled oaken doors that were painted with the finest polish in all of London. Two sconces framed the entrance, directly below the grand balcony in which was designed with antique angel and demon murals. Naked children with harps decorated another of the balconies, as did a series of other fantastical and whimsical images. It was a sight to behold, one of the best theatres of the 19th century indeed. New and made only four years ago, they featured some of the best comic operas of Gilbert and Sullivan.

It was the England-renowned theatre, now under his temporary control in this investigation. Well, with the not-so-helpful-Li...

"CIEL~!"

The Earl of Phantomhive was nearly knocked over on the street with a gasp, eyes wide in his skull as he was assaulted by a world of pink and frills. "LI-LIZZY!?"

"I came here early so that I can see you~!" Elizabeth squealed, holding him close as Paula giggled in the background. "I'm so excited~! We're going to get to work together~!"

"Li-Lizzy!" he cried, trying not to rudely push her away but at least get her off.

Sebastian was the one to save poor Ciel from the clutches of his betrothed. He tapped Elizabeth's shoulder, gaining the blonde's attention as she released Ciel with a curious expression. "It is time to meet the cast and the past directors inside, Miss Midford. Surely you must be eager to meet them yourselves."

"Oh yes! Come on, Ciel~! Let's go meet everybody!" she giggled, hugging Ciel's arm before starting to drag the earl through the grand doors of the Savoy. Ciel had to hold his hat as he cried out in protest, Sebastian following with a small smirk.

"Lady Elizabeth! Wait for me!" called Paul after her mistress as she gathered her skirts and ran after them, beginning their next grand adventure the moment they all stepped through that door.

Xxx

"Hurry, hurry~! We're going to be late~!" Grell pouted, looking at the tangle of black gloves in his magnificent, red tresses. His arms were crossed, lips caught in a scowl and hands straightening out the dress he wore. The dress he wore was an extravagent one at that with its lacy cuffs, frills, and ribbons. After all, an actress's beauty and glamour was always decided by the quality of her dress! And buying these dresses was quite hard to do since he was only paid a salary of 50 pounds a day and only on those in which he performed...which was only three or four weeks of the year twice (the spring and fall performances). It was only a mere two thousand and eight pounds a year, hardly enough to get buy and still buy this kind of dress that took up a seventh of his salary for the year...per dress. At least he had an expert hair dresser...!

"Oi! I'm going as fast as I can!" Ronald snapped through pressed lips that held a bobby pin between them, tugging Grell's hair slightly in mock punishment. "Don't rush me unless you want a mess!"

Huffing, Grell rested his cheek against the heel of his palm, skin wrinkled around his hand from the force between the two surfaces. His green eyes stared blankly at his reflection in the mirror, making sure the padding that acted like breasts were there. Of course, it was rather small as he dare not risk the chance that one may fall or shift during his performance. No one could know his secret. Should they discover his true gender, he would be hanged for sodomy most likely. Only Ronald knew this truth, and Grell had faith that his favorite little blonde wouldn't divulge his secret to anyone.

At that thought, his red-painted lips curved upward into a small smile.

"All right, there we are! All done!" chirped the younger, letting go of the messy red bun done up that framed the powdered face reflected in the vanity's mirror. "How does it look?"

"It's beautiful!" giggled the redhead quickly jumping up and tackling the blonde with a hug. "You're such a darling!"

Awkwardly, the blonde hugged the man that was a full two inches shorter than he, made up only an inch by the red high heel he wore. "Um, no problem..."

Sighing, Grell let go of Ronald and sauntered back to his vanity to spray on his favorite perfume, Fougère Royale; and afterward, he basked in the richness of amber and oakmoss. "Ah~ Now I'm ready," he chuckled, a dainty, gloved hand lightly held over his lips to stifle his miniscule laughter.

"About time. Do you think they've started without us?" Ronald asked, his hands in his trouser pockets as he looked toward the door. Even if Grell wasn't the star of the Savoy, he was good enough to have his own little dressing room (no matter how small it really was).

"Without me~?" Grell put that delicate hand over his fake bosom, raising that trimmed, ginger eyebrow in his mockery of Ronald's question. "As long as they have the 'star of the show' in their midst, it doesn't matter who they leave behind. You know that as well as I do, Ronnie-darling."

Ronald sighed and laced his gloved hands together behind his head. "I suppose. Knowing that diva, she'd do anything to start without us." With that said, he lowered his arms and offered one to his mentor with a polite smile. "Coming?"

"Of course I am! I'm eager to meet our new managers~! I knew this day would come soon~!" Grell beamed, blushing as Ronald walked him from his room and down the wooden, steel-railed stairs toward backstage where the other performers, chorus boys and girls, and other members of the theatre were pouring out onto the stage for the meeting beginning to take place there. "Oh, I hope they're handsome!"

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Ronald laughed all the way down the stairs and through the maze of different props to be used for the up and coming opera in a week and a half. His mentor was an odd one, he knew, but he wouldn't trade that for all the gold in the world.

And he'd protect him just as ferociously as a mother grizzly. No matter how desperate times got. Or so he thought at the time.

Nothing could have prepared them for what the near future would bring.

Nothing.

**Xxx**

**Author's Note:**

**Hey guys! Guess who's back~? It's me, your author. Your Grimm. It's been a while, i admit, and I figured that a little greeting from my side of things was needed. Yes, Grell is our beloved Christine Daae, I bet you didn't see that coming, did you? Well, I suppose those who have read my other work and saw the note that said Grell would be playing this part would know that XD. This is my first (published) co-written story, written with a help of a good friend of mine in the real world. Perhaps she too will be writing an author's note with me in the future, and her code name will be revealed as we really haven't decided on one. Recently, my replies have been scarce thanks to the testing at the end of the year, and I put most of my time into studying instead of writing. Therefore, I apologize, and I hope that my lovely fans out there forgive me. However, I promise more updates toward the end of the school year once testing is over, and the release of a new co-written fanfic that was written with my long-time fanfiction friend: crazigrl. We've been working on it since last June, and I'll really eager to have finally published it. The name...well, it's not fully decided yet, but I'll let you know. **

**So how about a deal? I love deals, hehe. If I manage to gain 10 replies in this story within two weeks, then I will post a new chapter to the continuation of A Foolish Figure. And spoiler alert: Grell and William kiss. SO if you really want that chapter soon, tell all your friends, and get them to write a review! I love hearing the input of my fans, and I look forward to those reviews! See you next time, my cute little fans! I love you to DEATH~!**


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